


Mercy for Lady Phantomhive

by iBear



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 19:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iBear/pseuds/iBear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was more than one way to screw over a demon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mercy for Lady Phantomhive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [everchangingmuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/everchangingmuse/gifts).



When Grell first laid eyes on Jim McCain, he thought, “Brat.” He also spared a thought to wonder how the hell such a kid managed to control a demon, because while Grell was not as masterful as Sebastian was when it came to screwing around with humans, he had had his fair share of experience in the field. Humans were interesting to a point, but dark creatures had certain tastes. It took a particularly demented soul to keep a demon wanting, waiting, willing to carry out every order. Ciel Phantomhive had it, the will that had been broken and healed back crooked, strong but twisted. Jim McCain, a bloody, pathetic heap on the carriage seat, did not, or so Grell thought.

And then the demonic maid pulled the roof off of their carriage, and Grell was unsurprisingly less concerned about McCain’s ability to hold onto his contract.

“You know, we could just talk instead of resorting to violence!” he whined, out of reflex more than fear. The she-demon was already reaching for him when a voice said, “Talk?”

The hand stopped, and Grell slanted his eyes over to the blond boy at his side, out of breath from pain and dying. “There’s something odd going on with the souls here.”

“Do you mean… Ciel’s?” McCain asked, and Grell raised an eyebrow. Of course, what catastrophic event didn’t involve Phantomhive?

“His wasn’t the one I was sent to retrieve,” Grell replied, his smirk growing wider.

“B-But Claude wouldn’t…” McCain started to say, but his eyes grew shuttered and his voice faded away before he could finish the undoubtedly false denial. “I can’t die yet,” he bit out instead, his blue eyes sharpening to a glare, and for a brief moment, Grell could see the appeal.

“Why not?” the death god asked, leaning back now that he was sure the maid would stay put. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t reap your soul.”

“Because I haven’t gotten my revenge on Sebastian Michaelis and Ciel Phantomhive yet!” McCain shouted at him, full of rage far beyond his real station in life. His emotional outburst cost him, and Grell watched with interest as the boy sucked up the pain and swallowed back the whimpers that threatened to flood out.

It wasn’t quite the correct answer, Grell thought, but the boy had potential.

“Well, I’m always interested in adding another annoyance to Sebby’s life,” Grell cooed at the blond boy, moving to lean forward into McCain’s face. “Why don’t you come with me, Jim McCain? I’ll offer you a better deal than Claude ever could,” he proposed, and if he sounded particularly contemptuous pronouncing the name of the demon butler the boy had gotten himself entangled with, McCain simply stifled his wince.

“My name is Alois Trancy,” was the agreement, and Grell’s smirk grew three sizes to know there was still fight in the boy.

By the time Claude arrived at the crash site, there was only a lingering smell of death. Claude abandoned his usual stoic demeanor and snarled in genuine distaste—he had never thought the boy would work up the guts to go.

\--

Ciel watched the familiar carriage make its way up to the Phantomhive manor. Elizabeth seemed to be visiting more and more often recently, and Ciel was still hesitant to ask why. He was curious, but in the long run, he would rather not upset the Lady Elizabeth, especially with his plans moving along so quickly now.

 _Alois Trancy_ , and Ciel tried and tasted the name and accompanying contempt with the same thoroughness he lent his morning tea and treat. There was a _wrongness_ he couldn’t explain, an off taste that reminded Ciel of Sebastian’s earlier attempts at cooking. Aesthetically, Trancy fit in beautifully with Ciel’s revenge fantasies, and all of the proof seemed to be there. Really, it would be entirely too easy to sink into his role of wrathful avenger against the utterly confounding, infuriating child.

However, in the end, that was the stopping block. Ciel couldn’t think of Trancy as anything other than a _child_ , kicking out at some misplaced pain. While lack of cunning and ability was made null by the presence of a demon butler, something else was wrong with Alois Trancy, and Ciel didn’t know if he could kill the other boy until he found out what.

“Ciel! Ciel!” a familiar voice called out, and Ciel found himself knocked violently out of his thoughts. He set down his teacup and stood just as Elizabeth burst through the door, her maid behind her out of breath from following her.

“Lizzy, what have I told you about calling before coming here?” he scolded perfunctorily.

“You aren’t busy,” Lizzy told him, and that was another shock. Ciel didn’t know when Lizzy had suddenly grown up, become more of the Elizabeth everyone expected her to be and less of the girl who had decorated his house in all pink for estate-wide tea parties. She was developing an awareness and authority possessed only by noblewomen.

In short, she was becoming the perfect Lady Phantomhive. Ciel held his hand out to her, and she took it with a warm smile that belayed her blunt statement.

“I told Sebastian to prepare a picnic. Even if you have to work, there’s no reason why we can’t spend some time outside,” she told him, her enthusiasm attempting to hide the slight hesitant note in her voice. Signs of growing pains, Ciel supposed, proof that they weren’t quite comfortable with each other yet, despite the steps they had taken.

“I agree completely, Lady Elizabeth,” he replied, letting her wrap her arms around his. She smiled pleasantly, just ecstatic enough for her to look her young age.

That was how he preferred her, as a pink-clad, overly spoiled noble heiress—as Lizzy. Ciel noticed but shied away from outwardly acknowledging her transition to the Lady Phantomhive. Not because he didn’t appreciate the effort or realize how lucky he was to have her, but he knew that as long as his eyes drifted to the blank wall which had held his family’s portrait not too long ago, this relationship would not go anywhere. Should not go anywhere, he corrected himself. After all, in Ciel’s heart, the previous Lady Phantomhive had not quite been laid to rest.

And beside all of that, he didn’t want a new Lady Phantomhive to suffer all the old pains.

So, he attempted to keep his distance. He let Sebastian serve them, speaking only when spoken to, and letting his eyes drift away into the distance. It was a sign of Elizabeth’s fantastic upbringing that she didn’t comment or look hurt—it was a sign of how devoted she was to him.  
It was simply too bad that soon, Ciel would kill Alois Trancy—even if it felt wrong, even if it all tasted too strongly like demonic perfection—and then his contract would be up. Then, Sebastian would eat Ciel, and Lizzy would be a young widow. Another sad Lady Phantomhive to add to the long list.

 _The last one_ , Ciel thought to himself, and that was almost comforting.

\--

Will was going to be mad. Not that it mattered to Grell, but he had a policy of being upfront and honest with himself, so he acknowledged the fact that he would have to deal with the administrative death god and his frightening piles of paperwork later. For now, there was work to be done.

“Does she have to stay?” Grell complained once again, not glancing up from his work of rummaging through a drawer. “She’s going to attract trouble faster,” he pouted.

Alois looked over his shoulder where Hannah stood, forever loyal and subservient. “I stick out, too,” he reminded the death god as he continued to pick at his clothes. The blood stain was still there, but the wound under it was not. Some things were just superfluous in the world of the death gods.

Which was where they were, somehow, and Alois had not paid enough attention to Grell’s half-hearted explanation, but neither of them cared. They had reached a joint decision, a deal almost as good as a demon’s.

“Do death gods do that often?” Alois had asked, but Grell had shrugged as if whatever death gods did simply didn’t matter to him.

“I do it,” he had replied, continuing his walk to what now appeared to be a library of sorts. Thick tomes lined the wall, and there seemed to be nothing else but the continuous hallway of bookshelves.

Hannah hadn’t said a word, but she looked conflicted. Alois wondered if she wanted to say something, which was odd, he realized, because he usually didn’t care what she thought.

“Ah-hah!” Grell’s exclamation seemed oddly gleeful and certainly victorious. Alois turned away from the blood staining his outfit to look at the death god, just in time to have an odd contraption forced on his face. It took him a moment to understand what the weight on his ears was, and he reached one hand up to touch the wire thin frame.

“Glasses?” he asked aloud.

“You can’t be a death god without one,” Grell explained. “You’re lucky some other poor sap lost his, or you’d be stuck trying to get a pair the _hard_ way.”

Alois didn’t bother asking what the hard way was, choosing instead to do a sweep of the room. What was so special about death god glasses, he wondered, as the hallway looked the same as it had before. He turned to look at Hannah, and his eyes widened in surprise. Golden, floating words spelled ‘DEMON’ over Hannah’s head, with an infinity sign under it. Alois looked back to see similar symbols over Grell’s head, with ‘DEATH GOD’ in its appropriate place.

“Is that all?” Alois asked, ignoring Grell’s foiled pout when he showed no signs of awe.

“Of course not! It takes hard work to become a death god!” Grell protested, beckoning Alois to follow him through the halls. “But that’s only if you’re stupid—”

“And you aren’t,” Alois finished for him, because he knew this much was true. Grell was ridiculous, flamboyant, and overly theatrical, but the death god wasn’t stupid. If anything, he was just bored, trying to find something new and interesting. Alois could fit that description, _had to_ if he wanted to uphold his end of the deal.

“Absolutely not,” the death god agreed, his odd smile widening. He stopped before two large, iron double doors, hidden away in a nook created by two bookshelves. “Hmm, I wonder how much trouble we’ll be in,” Grell hummed to himself as he reached for one of the doors. They looked heavy, but Alois’ expression remained unsurprised as Grell threw both doors open with relative ease. However, his eyes did widen in surprise when he saw what was hidden behind them.

“Death scythes?” he guessed, eyes roving over the various bladed instruments hanging on the wall. There were the mundane—swords, scythes, sickles—and then, there were the odd ones. “What is that?” he asked, pointing to what appeared to be a transparent pitcher with red-edged blades poking upward through the white stand it was placed on. There were oddly labeled buttons that made the blades grow out of the pitcher and spin menacingly when Grell pushed them in.

“Probably one of the experiments,” Grell dismissed, attempting to turn the object off. It simply whirred louder and faster, and Alois stepped back to avoid the reach of its blades. “Why don’t you choose something else?” Grell offered almost kindly as he moved quickly to avoid being cut by the death scythe, the slightest hint of panic in his voice.

Alois went back to surveying the selection, ignoring the frankly ominous sounds of Grell wrestling with the deadly appliance. His eyes paused on an object that seemed misplaced. “Shoes?’ he asked, grabbing the pair off of the rack. They looked like regular, albeit colorfully red, loafers with oddly flat soles.

“Put them on,” Grell suggested, now running from the death scythe that had seemed to gain a mind of its own.

“Allow me, Lord Alois,” Hannah offered, taking the shoes from him. Alois nodded, sitting down at the nearest cushioned bench as she knelt before him. She calmly slipped off his current shoes and placed them aside before replacing them with the death god pair, mimicking an action that Claude had performed for him for so long, Alois couldn’t think of one without the other. He swallowed the sudden clump in his throat and reached up to adjust his glasses—a different deal, a different mark—and he turned his attention back to the shoes. They were comfortable, but seemed oddly ordinary.

“How am I supposed to kill anyone with these shoes?” he asked Grell, who now looked visibly panicked. The man had resorted to taking out his own death scythe to fend off the rogue weapon.

“Tap your heels together or something, but if you figure it out, _help me_!” Grell gritted out between clenched teeth. Alois rolled his eyes, choosing to leisurely inspect his shoes rather than offer the man assistance. Besides, if the appliance actually became a threat, Hannah was still there to handle it. So he turned his attention back to his shoes.

Well, there was no harm in taking the death god’s advice to heart. He tapped his heels together.

Hannah jumped away just in time to avoid the blades that popped out from the soles of the shoes, and Alois’ eyebrows rose in joy at the sight of the shining blades. “Ice skates?” he mused to himself, reaching a finger out to run it alongside the sharp edge of the blade. “Can they go—”

“Anywhere,” Grell confirmed, taking a break from warding off the disastrous pitcher by attempting to hide behind Hannah. At least his maid could subdue the thing easily. “Death gods make quality items. Besides, you can’t do much reaping if you’re stuck skating around on ice,” he huffed in false offense.

For the first time since Grell had cornered him in the cabin, Alois smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners in genuine joy. It was almost disturbing to see, Grell thought, the boy had such an angelic face. And then it must have hit, the reality of it all—the ridiculous change he had suddenly undergone. His grin began to twist, and Hannah, as she stood by them, couldn’t place the expression either. It wasn’t like his other looks, the ones he had put on as a demented act for Claude. This one lacked all hints of attachment, all hopes of finding approval irreversibly dashed and replaced with a knowingly satisfied broken stare.

Alois’ tongue darted out, wetting his lips with satisfaction as he swiped his finger deliberately across the blade, drawing blood that refused to bleed while in the death gods’ library. Grell smirked. He didn’t know what was more satisfying: the knowledge that he had screwed over two demons or the growing feeling that he had created a beautiful monster.

\--

Alois had never understood why Hannah had stayed. After the violence and the humiliation, after the painful fights and patronizing boredom, Hannah had stayed, and Alois had never really wondered why. He asked her now, as they waited outside of Will’s office, ignoring the panicked rebukes and flirtatious responses being thrown around in the room next to them.

She turned to him, her single eye almost kind, “I would have told you once, but you’ve chosen another way,” she said. “However, I can tell you that I will still follow you as far as you will allow me.”

And it was a sign that Alois had changed that he didn’t pursue it, didn’t stomp his feet and demand an answer anyway. Hannah’s sentence had pointed out something infinitely more important: that for one of the few times in his life, he was making a decision, and this time there would be no one to lean on.

The door next to them swung open, and Will stepped out looking as pristine and apathetic as ever. Grell followed behind, slightly wilted, but the glint in his eye meant that he had been victorious. “You’ll have paperwork to do,” Will told Alois, carefully adjusting his glasses so that they glinted in the light of the waiting room, “and you’ll have to learn how to use that death scythe.”

“I understand,” Alois told him, full of resolve and a bit of glee. He was not hysterical as he had been the last time he had taken his life into his own hands (and placed them into a demon’s), but he couldn’t help the joy that welled up at the thought that he had made a decision. Slowly crawling away from Claude and from the feeling of desperation that had swept over him, causing him to say those magical words which had sold his soul away, Alois felt almost giddy. He took the pen Will offered to him, as plain and simple as the death god who owned it, and began to flip through the papers. He couldn’t read very well, because he had been a false nobleman, but he knew understanding the contract terms weren’t important. Alois simply had to sign on the dotted line, because nothing could take him from the death gods now that he had his glasses and his death scythe.

“Almost nothing,” Hannah corrected him, her voice kind enough to not seem derisive. “You still have a contract, Lord Trancy,” she reminded him, pointing at his mouth. Alois felt his mouth go dry, and his tongue darted out to lick at his lips. He could see the seal still on his tongue, but even more than that, he could feel its burn. Claude was angry, wondering where his charge was, where his next meal was hiding.

Alois banished all thoughts of the pain, focusing on the papers he couldn’t read until it was only a tingle on his tongue. He finished off the last of the signatures with a flourish, the ease having come only after endless hours practicing at perfecting his signature—a toilsome attempt at appearing to be what he wasn’t. It was a sign that he was still Alois Trancy, the identity he had taken for himself. He was simply a different version now, one that he had _built_ for himself.

“Death scythes can cut through anything, right?” Alois asked, handing the paperwork back to Will. The man was standing oddly, his head tilted to the side and back, as if he were appraising Alois. Unfortunately, the light shined harshly off of his glasses at that angle, and Alois could not see his eyes to try to read what Will was seeing in his own face, posture, voice.

“Anything,” Will confirmed, quiet but challenging.

“I’ll go myself,” Alois told them, staring down at his new, bloody red shoes.

“No, I’ll accompany you,” Hannah interrupted immediately, and Alois could see the surprise in both of their expressions when he didn’t throw a fit, didn’t lash out violently.

“Sounds like a good plan,” he agreed instead, because as happy as he was, he still wasn’t sure he could kill Claude. His feelings still hung over everything, no longer a bad sauce—because he wouldn’t let Claude eat him anymore, he was pretty sure—but it was still a hesitation; something equally as terrible as an imperfection in the blade of his death scythe.

“You’ll be trained in your death god duties after you return,” Will told him, voice leveling, head no longer tilted so that the glare hid his eyes. The other death god had reached a decision about Alois that the blond had no choice but to assume was positive until proven otherwise. “Don’t go to the Phantomhive estate.”

Will already knew him too well. “I won’t,” Alois promised, putting on his best sincere look. Judging by the slight sneer on Will’s face, Alois assumed the death god knew just how much of a lie that was.

There was a brief moment of silence after Will slammed his door closed, and Alois took the chance to gather himself. He tapped his heels together, smiling as the blades snapped out and gleamed like Will’s glasses under the light.

“I’ll go with you,” Grell piped up. “I’m bored.”

“You just want to see your little Sebby again,” Alois mocked, the smirk on his face an almost perfect mirror of Grell’s.

\--

Ever since Sebastian had informed her of Ciel’s sudden memory loss, the Lady Elizabeth had taken to spending more time at the Phantomhive estate. Even when she was just waiting on the lawn for him, Lizzy felt better the closer she was to Ciel. She did realize, however, that she was spending more of her time waiting for him than actually with him. Taking a sip of the tea Sebastian had carefully prepared for her, Lizzy wondered if this was how it was always going to be. If this was how it was like for the other noblewomen.

Yes, she thought, it had to be. Except for the looming feeling of darkness hiding behind Ciel—Lizzy was sure that was something purely theirs, and for that reason alone, she couldn’t quite hate it. Instead, she sat back and tried to exude calm, staring up at the window she knew belonged to Ciel’s office.

She was in the process of taking another sip of tea when she felt a jolt of lightning run up her spine and down her arm, leaving her paralyzed and blindingly frightened. “Hello, my Lady,” she thought she heard a voice say, but the rush of blood that left her lightheaded also seemed to drown out her hearing.

When she came to again, there was a boy sitting across from her. He had the most beautiful blond hair and the most charming wire-rimmed glasses. Most eye-catching of all were his blood red shoes which kicked playfully through the air.

“Who are you?” she asked, peering at him from under her eyelashes. Too afraid to look him straight in the eyes, as if he would turn her into stone, she carefully turned her head away. Then she remembered Ciel, fragile and shadowed, sitting in his office. Lizzy felt a rush of shame and protective fervor, and she tilted her head regally toward the sky. “How did you get onto this estate?”

“You’re just like him,” the boy mumbled under his breath, just loud enough for Lizzy to hear. She felt her pulse speed up as she watched the boy’s tongue dart out and wet his lips. “You’ll be just as fun,” he added with a tone of finality, as if reaching some grand conclusion.

“I asked you who you were,” she repeated, feeling even more out of place than in all of her visits to the estate.

Suddenly, the tension burst and the paralyzing fear that had hung heavy on Lizzy’s shoulders lifted. The blond boy gave her an angelic smile that sent yet another jolt up her spine. Her teacup clattered noisily against its saucer as she tried to put it down without breaking the delicate china. “My name is Alois Trancy,” he introduced himself, jumping to his feet and greeting her with a gentlemanly bow. “I am a friend of Ciel’s.”

“That’s not true,” she asserted with conviction. “He would never be your friend.”

Alois tilted his head, as if conceding the point. “Just like he’d never be your husband?” he returned, and Lizzy gasped as if struck. It was a low blow, a childish assertion that had made its rounds through “polite” society a million times, but from Alois Trancy’s innocent face, it felt like drowning. Maybe it was worse when it was said without malice, without emotion, because it seemed to stand like unbreakable truth before her.

Her shock made her lightheaded, and she found she couldn’t do anything but wince when Alois reached out for her, brushing her hair to rest behind her ear almost tenderly. “It’s all right,” she heard the other whisper, too close to her ear for comfort. She could feel his arm snaking around her waist, and while part of her brain yelled at her to _run_ , that this boy was just too dangerous, another part of her read a twisted empathy in his touch. “Some people just weren’t meant to be loved,” Alois’ voice told her, a soothing lull. Lizzy began to relax without meaning to, sinking slowly against the other.

And then came the sharp nip at her ear, and her eyes widened as she tried to scramble away. Tripping over her chair, she braced for an impact that never came, and she opened her eyes to see that Ciel had caught her from behind. His face was contorted in absolute fury, and while inappropriate, Lizzy couldn’t help but be warmed by his reaction. Alois was wrong—Ciel did care for her. She reached her arm up to take Ciel’s hand in hers, but he hardly seemed to notice, he was so focused on Alois.

The blond had somehow retreated far back, beyond Sebastian’s reach. Lizzy noted with surprise that the butler’s shoulders were tense. She had never seen Sebastian emotional before; he had always held so calm under pressure. The looming feeling of darkness that followed them seemed to grow larger, and for a moment, Lizzy felt as if she could not see anything beyond it.

“Death god,” Sebastian growled, and Ciel’s arm tightened around her.

“What do you think, Sebby?” another voiced asked, and they all turned to find a familiar red clad man posing artfully in a nearby tree. “Do you like what I’ve done with him?”

“You’ve meddled a bit too much, Grell,” Sebastian told him, and everything about the man’s body language told their audience that he had no intent to indulge the death god in his games. “Now what am I supposed to do?” He asked, patently fake smile on his face, and the pleasant tone of his voice rang empty.

“Suffer for eternity, I suppose,” Grell casually threw out, ostensibly more concerned with shining his nails. “Maybe there’s a reason why humans should be left alone,” he said and laughed as he dodged a barrage of knives.

“Sebastian,” Ciel gritted out, and the butler straightened but did not look away from Grell and Alois. “Can you kill death gods?” he asked, because he couldn’t remember the first time he spoke the question—the first time Sebastian had answered him.

So Sebastian repeated his answer, “Absolutely,” and moved to charge forward. Ciel gathered Lizzy in his arms, ignoring her questioning gaze as his eyes roved the grounds for a safer place to watch the action. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed Sebastian lurch before recoiling solidly back in place. A familiar tree trimmer was at his chest. “We must stop meeting like this, Mister…”

“I’m afraid we can’t have you killing a death god before he’s actually a death god,” Will insisted, pushing his glasses up with his tree trimmer.

“That makes no sense,” Sebastian growled, radiating a darkness that no doubt raised the other death god’s hackles.

“No, it doesn’t,” Will agreed. “However, considering your intelligence, I’m sure I don’t have to bother trying to spell out the subtle nuances of this situation.”

“You can’t possibly think I’ll let the death gods get in my way,” Sebastian replied. “After all, I am one hell of a butler.”  


Will’s glasses simply glinted menacingly in reply. “It might be for the best if you did.”

“No!” snarled Ciel, his arms still wrapped around Lizzy. “That can’t happen—we made a deal—” and then silence, furious and stormy, reigned until Alois moved forward, head bent down to where Lizzy lay half-collapsed on the floor.

“A deal?” she asked and didn’t realize it was directed at the blond until the words had already left her throat.

“To leave,” Alois told her, with the same matter of fact voice and self-assured tone, and Lizzy could hear the (you) implied at the end. Or maybe she was just assuming it was there, felt it the way she felt the ever present shadow.

“Get away from her!” Ciel warned, and Alois straightened yet again.

“People who lose love should stick together,” the blond said, smiling at Lizzy in a way that was entirely too cruel to be kind, and while he was no less frightening than before, Lizzy couldn’t help but feel an odd kinship with him. It was a blinding empathy that she would never voice, but his satisfied smile said he knew anyway. “I’m sorry to make things harder for you, Sebastian Michaelis,” Alois apologized, sweeping into a low bow before he disappeared into nothing with the other death gods.

The quiet growl in the back of Sebastian’s voice disagreed with the sentiment, but the butler himself kept cool, reaching for the now useless rose tucked into his pocket. He withdrew it and tossed it away without a second glance. Instead, he locked eyes with his master. Ciel had kept up a perfect iron will throughout this whole fiasco, but now the boy looked shaken. Lizzy, who he held in his arms, looked even worse.

“Sebastian, does that mean…” Ciel began, and while the boy did not quite sound defeated, the Phantomhive heir was far from stupid.

“Give it time. Our contract still stands,” Sebastian replied, and if his eyes flickered into their demon state in his fury, he quickly forced them back. “We should prepare in case they return.”

“Do you think they will?” Ciel asked seriously, helping Lizzy stand on her shaking legs.

“There’s no doubt about it. Alois Trancy has finally matured into reality, and he knows what he wants,” Sebastian told his master, a vision of calm as he packed away the fine china he had set out before Lizzy.

“But can we beat him?” Ciel asked, his arm around Lizzy’s waist, and the ever determined look in his one, shining eye.  
Sebastian chose to stay silent, motioning for his master to walk in front. He clenched his teeth against the lie he wished to tell instead of the truth he already knew.

 _“No,”_ hung in the air like bitter defeat all throughout the day.

Lizzy stayed quiet for the rest of the evening, refusing to let Ciel move too far and never standing from the seat she had collapsed into. Ciel eventually had Sebastian fetch what paperwork he still had to work on out to their room, and he sat working while Lizzy’s eyes roamed over his face as intently as an artist in the middle of detailed artwork. Lord Phantomhive would probably disappear one day, inevitably would, and Lizzy had always known that. She had never thought about what she would do then, choosing to put it off for later. Now, however, she sat and thought that maybe she would move on. Maybe she could survive it, rebuild herself.

And she thought of the blond who had looked at her with a mix of disgust and sympathy in the early afternoon, knowing that his odd, condescending cruelty had been a mercy Ciel would have probably never shown her.

End

Beta kudos goes to ryuutchi! Thank you so much!


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